When Hohsalle finished, he looked at Van. “I think the change that came over the Kinma dogs is similar to what befell you and Yuna. Neither the Ahfal Oma nor the Yusula Oma got sick from tick bites when they drank plenty of mare’s milk. And in the past, when Kinma dogs ate the flesh of horses buried in the lichen-covered mound, they never underwent the kind of transformation they do now. That in itself is a clue to solving this riddle.”
The others stared at him with bated breath.
“Some people have speculated that transplanting black wolves from their native habitat in the north to the very different environment of Otawalle is what made the disease so virulent that it wiped out our kingdom. And I’m inclined to believe that’s correct. Because even though the black ticks in the mountains and forests of Aquafa still carried the disease agents, no more outbreaks occurred once the capital of Otawalle was sealed off. There may have been isolated cases, but there were no follow-up epidemics. This suggests that the Aquafaese were immune.
“The more people stricken with a contagious disease, the more virulent that sickness becomes. And yet, hardly any Aquafaese have contracted the old strain of black wolf fever. Over the last few centuries, the Otawalle may have gradually developed immunity through exposure to the diet and customs of Aquafa. However…”
Hohsalle paused, his eyes shining. “When the Zolians settled here, the environment changed radically. The settlers cut down the forest and turned grasslands into pastures. They raised sheep instead of horses. Horse and sheep manure have different properties. As the number of sheep grew, their manure altered the soil and affected the vegetation. Perhaps the lichens that suppress the disease decreased, leaving fewer for the fire horses to eat.”
“The toxic grain incident!” Milalle jumped in eagerly. “Maybe it wasn’t the wheat that killed the horses after all. Quite a bit of time had passed since the settlers arrived. Some of the horses may have simply lost their immunity to black wolf fever.”
Hohsalle paused to consider this. “I see what you mean,” he said slowly. “But you know, I think there’s a greater possibility it was something else. The elder said some of the horses and sheep that ate toxic grain didn’t die.”
“Really?”
“They must have had some resistance to it. But even so, the toxin weakened them, and they died later when ticks bit them. They were buried in separate mounds, which grew over with ashimi and ikimi. The pups born from bitches that ate the carcasses in those mounds were even smarter and more fearsome than previous Kinma dogs.”
Milalle’s expression brightened in evident understanding. With his eyes still on her face, Hohsalle continued, “We’ve got work to do, don’t we? First, we’ve got to identify the properties of that toxic grain. Then we need to examine how those properties interact with the disease agents in the ticks and the disease-resistant component in ashimi to produce the new breed of Kinma dogs that carry the most recent strain.
“Clearly, the transformation of the Yukata Plains must be involved, too. Let’s review what we know so far.” Hohsalle raised a finger for each point. “People who show resistance to the disease were all raised on the milk of animals that were immune to it, even when bitten by ticks. Those animals all ate lichens. We can’t rule out the possibility that some other food might be involved, but for the sake of this study, let’s start by assuming the weakened disease agents were passed through the milk.”
“I agree,” Milalle said. “Remember, Izam didn’t eat Oki laputa.”
Noticing the puzzled expression on Van’s face, she said, “Sorry. I’ve rushed ahead. Of those who survived after being bitten by the dogs, there was one Aquafaese boy named Izam who suffered under the illness far more than another boy who was part Zolian. Despite being Aquafaese, Izam preferred lapateh made from cow’s milk over Oki laputa, which, as you know, is made from reindeer milk. It’s not particularly unusual. Since the Zolians introduced their livestock, dairy products made with milk from cows and sheep have become more common than those produced from reindeer or fire horse milk.
“The half Zolian boy often ate Oki laputa, despite his father being a Zolian noble who avoids dairy products of any kind because they’re supposedly defiled. That’s actually why I became interested in the role of milk in the first place.”
Hohsalle nodded. His attention moved to Van. “Just as the Ahfal Oma and the Yusula Oma are raised on fire horse milk, the Gansa in the Toga Mountains are raised on pyuika milk, and the people of Oki on reindeer milk. All these animals coexist with black wolf fever disease agents, which appear to have been weakened, presumably from the consumption of lichens. We’ll have to research what component increases resistance to the disease, but it seems that when the Gansa drink pyuika milk, they also ingest both a weakened version of the black wolf fever disease agents and something that suppresses them and promotes immunity. We’re assuming that’s why you didn’t die when bitten by the Kinma dog.”
Van recalled something Nakka had told him. “Yuna, too,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nakka said that Yuna’s mother was one of the Yusula Oma.” Van stroked his beard absently. “When she was sentenced to slavery in the salt mines, her father regularly brought her lapateh made with fire horse milk or Oki laputa that he’d bought in Kazan. His daughter always gave it to Yuna without keeping any for herself.”
A silence fell over the room. It was Sae who finally broke it. “To think that she was a Yusula Oma.” All eyes turned to her. “Fire horse milk is extremely precious. The Yusula Oma were like servants to the Ahfal Oma. Presumably, they were only granted mare’s milk on special occasions. I’m guessing that even when she was growing up, Yuna’s mother rarely had the chance to taste any.” A sad smile flitted across her face. “Yuna’s grandfather must have sacrificed a great deal to get some of that cheese and take it to the salt mine for his daughter, but she gave it all to her child. And in the end, that’s what saved Yuna’s life.”
Recalling Yuna’s mother as she lay slumped against the oven, Van closed his eyes. The intricately woven threads of cause and effect could never be completely untangled to see what bound a life to this world or took it away. Yet, as Sae had said, Yuna lived thanks to the love of her mother and grandfather.
Another log crumbled in the fire. Tiny sparks danced in the air and then faded.
“So,” Van said. “Both the disease agents and whatever suppresses them live inside Yuna, competing and coexisting.”
He looked at Hohsalle and Milalle. “For her, ikimi and ashimi glow, and for me, they give off a strong smell. The same is true for the medicine you make from them. When I’m with the Kinma dogs, I turn inside out, and Yuna changes, too. Why?” As he spoke, another question popped into his mind. “And why hasn’t anyone else changed like us? Many others must have been bitten by ticks and infected with black wolf fever.”
Hohsalle and Milalle looked at each other. “I’m not sure,” Hohsalle confessed. “But the disease agents may have mutated when they passed through the dogs. You were infected through the saliva of one of the new Kinma dogs born after the mound changed. According to the elder, they’re different. Your body was already home to something resistant to the disease agents in black ticks. The introduction of mutated agents into your body may have generated compound changes.”
Van’s eyes narrowed. “If one of those dogs bit someone else from the Gansa clan, would the same thing happen?”
Hohsalle hummed. “It might, but…” He fell silent for a while, pondering something, then sighed and rubbed his chin.
“I’m afraid that my explanation has made it sound like we know everything already, but in fact, infectious diseases are incredibly complex. Immunity acquired through exposure to weakened disease agents isn’t the only reason some people get sick and others don’t under identical conditions. Even twins, for example, respond differently. One may get ill while the other doesn’t, and there’s quite a variation in the efficacy of any medicine from one person to another.
“However, when it comes to your changes—your heightened sense of smell, for example—we might be able to explain a little of why that’s happened.”
Hohsalle tapped his forehead with a long, pale finger. “Black wolf fever affects the brain. The patient develops cold-like symptoms first—a sore throat and a fever—followed by a rash and, finally, seizures.”
Van knit his brow as he remembered how all the slaves in the mine had started coughing when they first got sick.
“You and Yuna are resistant to the disease agents transmitted by black ticks. The agents carried by the Kinma Dogs, however, may have taken a slightly different form. If so, then when they entered your bodies, they might have affected your brains, even though they didn’t kill you.”
That’s right. In the middle of the night, Van had come down with a high fever, and his body had ached all over. That was followed by a splitting headache and a horrendous nightmare.
“The illness has evidently affected your sense of smell and vision, so I think it must’ve altered your olfactory cells or membranes. But at the same time, we know that the brain is also intricately involved in our sense of smell and sight.”
Hohsalle tapped his forehead again. “Thinking, feeling, breathing, temperature regulation. We believe that all these things and more are controlled by the brain. A brain transformation would therefore alter how you perceive or experience the world around you.”
Van frowned. A fragment of memory brushed against his thoughts. He snatched it back before it vanished into the dark.
“Ah!” he breathed. “I see. He was bitten, too.”
“Hmm?”
Van glanced at Sae, then fixed his gaze toward Hohsalle and Milalle. “Kenoi, the Dog King, was bitten, too.”